


A Geisha Boy

by richhousewife



Series: A Geisha-Boy [1]
Category: InuYasha - A Feudal Fairy Tale
Genre: Dark, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-14
Updated: 2019-01-16
Packaged: 2019-10-09 19:29:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con, Underage
Chapters: 3
Words: 16,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17412863
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/richhousewife/pseuds/richhousewife
Summary: "It was once, when Sesshomaru’d had him on his back with one hand in those thick tendrils of hair and the other holding down both of the smaller demon’s wrists—a learned mistake after the inu-hanyou sliced him across the chest, quick and desperate. That was the trick with Inuyasha, Sesshomaru had learned. He would fight until he couldn’t, would fight until he exhausted himself, until his muscles would buckle and fall limp from it, even as his mind was still raging behind his eyes"Inuyasha is a training geisha, Sesshomaru his king. Darkfic, Rape/non-con, Yaoi.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> TRIGGER WARNINGS:
> 
> +Rape/Non-Con +Referenced Child Abuse +Violence +Underage +Blood/Bruise Fetishism +Explicit Sexual Content

 

The teahouse's sticky warm temperature had mirrored the humidity of the outside and magnified the smells of crowded bodies and liquored breaths. The silk of his evening kimono stuck to the underside of his arms and to the skin of his chest, everything and everyone was loud enough for the noise to melt into one screeching blurb of sound, and Sesshomaru was not happy.

The young prince found himself tucked away within a short hall a little ways from the main rooms, the awkward angles of his pubescent body wound tight as he sat, waiting to be sent for. It had been hours that felt like days since they'd arrived and Sesshomaru vowed never again would he succumb to such a punishment as this teahouse. The remaining licks of sun came streaking down unto him from a small window high against the ceiling, making the frown lines creasing the youth of his face all the more visible.

This is the day he had first come into contact with Inuyasha. The young hanyou had burst in as tornado of jittering limbs and showcasing a crooked grin too large for his face.

He was clumsy as he held tight to his stomach, cradling something concealed under the folds of his hakama and taking no notice of the small prince already occupying the area. A smell, tangy and sweet, wafted from him, stronger than the scents of sweat and sake that rung prevalent as well. When first coming into contact with someone in a dark hall, generally the first response would be to freeze; analyze. He stumbled to the floor instead, eyes meeting Sesshomaru's only once he'd settled where he'd landed, his grin widening enough to showcase a few empty spaces and a slice of watermelon the size of his forearm tumbling out from under the fabric of his shirt. It had been very. . . odd.

Sesshomaru was easily repulsed. His eyes roamed the small boys dress, a linen robe of burgundy, plain but neat upon his frame and with the thin obi tight but tied in the back.

The pale ribbons of his hair sat braided and coiled into two neat buns at the crown of his skull, drawing the attention straight to his hanyou birthright - that being the pinked ears of a canine, oversized and fidgeting within the locs of his hair. He was a bit smaller than Sesshomaru, with baby fat still filling his cheeks and rounding his torso. Clawed fingers glistened with the sticky juices of the melon he held cradled and barely contained within the crest of his hand and Sesshomaru watched without interest as he lifted it to his mouth and took a bite larger than he was able to comfortably chew. His groan was that of extreme appreciation once the flesh of the fruit first hit his tongue, his excitement apparent.

"Inuyasha," he gurgled, hardly coherent and swallowing what he could, "It's Inuyasha."

Sesshomaru remained silent, his features relaxed into no one expression and his eyes soaking in what they could. He'd never met one so close to himself in age - a geisha-boy - and perhaps it was the extreme disinterest Sesshomaru had felt for the night thus far but he was beginning to find himself curious, if only for the moment. He wondered if this dwelling was where the geisha-boy's chambers were, or if he even had a specific region of the teahouse that was deemed only his. Sesshomaru would gander not. Likeliest was he shared a floor space packed tight with whomever else; other little burgundy geisha-boys this teahouse harbored.

"What's yours?"

Sesshomaru glanced upwards, taken from his thoughts. The hanyou sat watching him, licking the evidence from his fingers, "Your name," he clarified, snorting a laugh deep from his throat. The melon's shell sat discarded in his lap, stripped down to the white and empty. Sesshomaru looked to it blankly.

"Young lord." he responded.

The hanyou laughed again, childlike, "No, I mean your real name."

Sesshomaru stared to him, blinking. No one called him by his given name but his mother. The silence stretched, the small prince looking to the messy hanyou who met the prince's stare evenly, his hand coming up to pick some leftovers from the meetings of his teeth as he did.

"Sesshomaru."

The hanyou's expression wasn't riddled by the confession, his hand moving to the panels of the floor and his eyes following suit, "You're a prince." he concluded, picking at the floorings distractedly. Inuyasha's lashes were spiked with sweat and black against his skin, clashing with the fairness of the hair held at his scalp. Sesshomaru was intrigued.

"So whatcha doin' out here?" he asked, looking back to Sesshomaru with his fingers still moving absently against the wood.

"I don't like it in there."

He snorted, "So why'dja come?"

Sesshomaru flexed his jaw. He didn't answer - He didn't have to, before the door slides open with force, shuttering against it's sheath. They both turned, attention held by the demoness positioned in the door's framed, mildly surprised and looking to them as they looked to her.

The noise of the inside poured in from behind her, a scene of white that showcased her as a single shadow against it. She grinned down suddenly, remembering herself, teeth a perfect row of pale fangs, face painted a ghostly white and lips painted a wine red. The teahouse mother. Sesshomaru's eyes returned to the geisha.

Inuyasha had gone white, his movements abrupt - trying his hardest the make his stained fingers disappear under his sleeves, to make the watermelon's shell go unnoticed between his knees.

The wood of her shoes thumped a beat as she walked towards them and Inuyasha's frame shrunk smaller into itself the closer she got. He sank into a bow. She paid him no attention.

"His highness has sent for my prince."

Sesshomaru stared forward, frowning. Silence fell amongst them, Inuyasha concealed behind the mother's knees, with no doubt his bowed position still held. Sesshomaru's frown only deepened as he stood, leaving the hall.

He couldn't have taken more than five steps into the main rooms before the resounding sound of her hand against the hanyou's skin reached his ears. Sesshomaru's steps didn't falter.

Things had quieted to a soft muttering of words from the remaining guests, some stumbling out while some clung to older, made up geisha-boy's who giggled into their fans and rolled their eyes in merriment, their obi's tied against their ribcages. The event was clearly dying and Sesshomaru floated past the leftover's until he reached the entrance of the teahouse, climbing into the carriage next to his drunken father as he'd done so many times before. Sesshomaru did not look back. The sound of her slaps echoed within his skull anyway.

* * *

His mother had laughed when he'd told her, seated at her vanity and looking to him through the mirror, her reflection amused, "A geisha-boy," she'd hummed, returning her attention to the skin of her neck, her shoulders, her wrists. Sesshomaru looked to the fine cream she spread, milky and vanilla against her skin.

"Was he pretty?" she mocked.

Sesshomaru thought to the dark of his lashes, the fairness of his hair. He didn't answer.

"He ate as though starved." he said instead, remembering.

"Was he fat?"

Sesshomaru frowned, "He was growing."

She giggled, sighing out a sung breath, "Oh, yes," she began, eyes held upon herself, "Teahouse mothers have to be strict, if they want to grow pretty boys who pay their debts. I was broad, too, as a child. Your grandmother, rest her soul, had a time with me as well."

Sesshomaru remained passive, "You were breed a lady."

She grunted, moving her fingers from one potion to the next, "Look harder, my Sesshomaru," she suggested, "There is little difference between he and I."

He found himself reflecting well into the day, the question of their differences drifting through his mind as he stalked the halls, as he ignored his lessons, as he lay against the cool sheets of his bedding. There was obvious difference. His mother was the most powerful woman of this land, matched by no one, equal to no one but her king. The geisha-boy was bought, he was owned, he was punished in dark halls, he was slapped, starved. There was truly no comparison.

His tutor laughed when he'd told him, his expression reflective, dark eyes looking past their surroundings as he thought, "My first love was a geisha." he began, smile turning crooked; darker, "I was her first everything."

Sesshomaru frowned, his gaze drifting to the glare of the windows, the color in the trees.

"Mother says geisha and those of her own standing share common experience."

The bear demon rumbled, thoughtful.

"It is possible that our queen can. . . recognize some of the more common geisha practices."

Sesshomaru's attention returned to the elder demon, eyes narrowing, "I do not understand."

"Geisha are breed to attract, my young prince, as are high-blooded ladies," he started, shifting his stance so that he could lounge more comfortably within the chair, "I'm sure our queen knows of what it takes to train the young."

There was a breath of silence. Sesshomaru could feel his lips thinning.

"They were starving him."

The elder demon nodded, solemn in his mannerism, "Hai. They do what they will."

* * *

The next time he's brought to the teahouse, he comes armed with the weight of several meat-pies warming his hands through a linen sack clutched to his middle. It'd been a full moon cycle since his last visit, but when he'd found the geisha-boy again, he was crouched in the same hall.

Sesshomaru caught him with his head bowed, clawed fingers tracing the path of a little black beetle as it scattered against the wood. When he looked up, his eyes went not to Sesshomaru, but to the royal blue of the sack, nose twitching, jaw going slack. Sesshomaru approached steadily, lowering to rest on bended knees. He sat the food between them, untying the twine so that the breads fell uncovered, their smell amplifying. The boy remained mesmerized, attention never leaving them. Sesshomaru watched the beetle scurry away until it stopped, pausing against the far wall. Inuyasha was the same; frozen where he sat.

"They're for you." Sesshomaru confirmed. The boy bit his lip, claws rolling into his palm. Sesshomaru remained, blinking, "Do you eat?"

He tore his eyes away, "Sometimes," a pause, "Not... _that_."

"You don't like them?"

His fists balled harder, "Mother wouldn't ... She wouldn't want me to."

"Why not?"

'Because food makes you heavy." Inuyasha looked to him then, eyes the same honeyed color as the sun light that lay in panels across the floor. Sesshomaru remained silent, studying his counterpart - they way his hair was now braided in a single halo against his skull, the way his bones jutted a bit too sharply against his collar.

"Eat it." he commanded.

Inuyasha set his jaw.

"I am the young lord of these lands, only son of your Lord InuTashio, the heir to the palace - and your future ruler - now, I demand you to eat it."

Inuyasha glared, holding the prince's stare for a pregnant pause. His lip quivered, shoulders stiff under his robe before his sharp hands thrusted forward and stuffed the palm sized bun between his own teeth.

Sesshomaru made a point to bring him meat-pie's every time he returned.

* * *

Sesshoamru eyed him on the third visit as he walked to where the hanyou sat, "Why do you so often find yourself in this hall?"

"Because you're always here."

Sesshomaru remained passive, watching the inu's ears bend and flutter with each breath he took.

"You're my friend." Inuyasha clarified.

Sesshomaru blinked down at him, contemplative. He sat after a moment, humming a noncommittal noise before retrieving the sack of food from the breast of his kimono.

* * *

His mother's taunting question had rung in the back of Sesshomaru's head the first time he'd witnessed the geisha-boy cry. Inuyasha had been crouched, wiping stubbornly at the skin of his face with stiff limbs, his movements careful; cautious of bothering the sensitive areas under his robe. Sesshomaru sat across from him, watching, "What was her purpose in beating you?"

He gritted his teeth, huffing through his nostrils and turning his face towards the white of the walls, "I - I didn't -" he growled, frustrated, "It was an accident,"

Sesshomaru's gaze went to the shadows under the inu's robe. He was losing interest in 'how' rather quickly. He wondered the extent; to what degree would she have gone to break the geisha into tears. Sesshomaru wondered how it felt to be the one to punish another. He remembered the sound of her hand against the inu's skin. His eyes evened.

"Show me."

Inuyasha turned back to him, confused before his face twisted in understanding, "No!" he responded, his hands twisting into the panels of his robe, tightening it against himself, "Just - Just because you're some kind of royal princess doesn't mean you can just -"

"Remove your coverings or I will do it for you."

They both fell still, watching the other, silent but for the sounds of celebration within the main rooms fighting against the doors enclosing them. Inuyasha's face was blotched in red, cheeks still wet and lips pouted. His lashes were dark and spiking with moisture against his skin, rimming watery eyes that stared to Sesshomaru wide and pointed, young, challenging even in the pathetic state he resided in.

He jumped, bolting, his movements towards the exit, fast in his actions but clumsy; stumbling before he could attempt to get upright and stiff from his injuries. Sesshomaru was entertained. Sesshomaru was quicker.

He'd grabbed him with one hand gripping his wrist - pulling him down - and the other at the back of the inu's neck - forcing the geisha-boy flat to the floor. Sesshomaru pounced, landing his weight onto the back of Inuasha's knees and keeping his hand pressed strong, gripped into tanned skin. A wisp of hair fell from the cross bun at the nape of the hanyou's hair line, whispering against the back of Sesshomaru's hand; soft and white. Sesshomaru ignored it, releasing the inu's wrist so that he was able to grasp the collar of Inuyasha's robe and force it downward - to the waist.

Inuyasha struggled, bucking against the weight pinning him and clawing the floor under them. Sesshomaru was a still, immovable weight on top. His eye's traced Inuyasha, trailing the colors bursting across the landscape of his back. Bruises of midnight blues and plum purples lay in inky strips across him, painful and beautiful against his sandy skin, nearly glowing in the evening's fading light. Sesshomaru could see Inuyasha's form expand when he breathed, could see the markings rise with each inhale. He could picture it now, the blunt end of a bamboo stick, the fiery lashing against Inuyasha's middle.

He was warm between Sesshomaru's thighs, radiating heat through the cotton of his robe. Inuyasha's spine was prominent, jutting out in ridges down his back but his ribs were fleshy and his sides ran smooth, almost giving away the impression of health. He felt tiny under Sesshomaru, his shoulders retracted inwards, a shaking mass of anger beneath him.

Sesshomaru was curious, bringing his free hand out to run down the expanse of Inuyasha's skin, hotter than the skin of his neck and soft against Sesshoomaru's fingertips. Sesshomaru felt like he could break him if he tried, Inuyasha's bones feeling almost hollow against his palm; birdlike. Inuyasha shuddered, a pain filled gasp shuttering from his mouth before he continued to struggle. Seshsomaru hadn't remembered him stopping. He blinked, feeling the excitement in his groin against the sticky silk of his undergarments.

_Was he pretty?_

_Well_. This was unexpected.

* * *

Sesshomaru had killed his first man when he was thirteen summers. It'd been a prisoner; a traitor marked for death, thrust out onto the training field three days before his sentence was to be carried out. The purpose had been to help teach the young prince the strength it would take when battling a grown body. Sesshomaru had driven the sword through the center of his chest and out between his shoulder blades.

The man fell to his knees with his eyes wide and his lips stuttering broken gasps. Sesshomaru never forgot the color of his blood against the grey burlap of his garb as it ran dark, soaking a spot of black to his stomach. He remembers the smell of urine, of sweat, of raw flesh. He remembers the sound of the man's weight as it collapsed against the dirt, Sesshomaru's sword remaining jutted awkwardly out from his torso.

Sesshomaru watched. He stomped a foot to the man's shoulder before unsheathing his sword from the body. His trainer was somewhere nearby, shouting, ordering about. Seshsomaru ignored him. The prisoners eyes were rolling, his blood still streaming, Sesshomaru's foot still heavy atop his shoulder. He could feel the smile stretching his lips and his fingers tightening their grip on the sword he held, tilted against the ground. Sesshomaru will never forget the prisoner's last exhale.

Killing people was … pleasing.

* * *

Sesshomaru was forced to hunt down the hanyou on his next visit. When he'd finally spotted the familiar scalp of white hair, it was tangled within the dewy grasses behind the teahouse. The air was cooling in the evening, the skies turning an ashy blue and the shadows widening across the ground. Their eyes met. Inuyasha's face soured.

"Are we no longer friends?" Sesshomaru taunted, amused.

The inu scowled, turning his face away. He sat curled in on himself, nose reddening in the mild weather and bare feet spread out in front of him. Sesshomaru eyed the patch of earth next to Inuyasha once he came to it, taking a cautious seat amongst the soil after a breathes hesitation. The blades of grass stood tall, tickling the underside of his wrists.

A pause, a gentle breeze through the air, silence. Sesshomaru unfolding a cloth of honeyed bread for the geisha to see. Inuyasha glancing, his expression remaining cross but his hand coming out almost immediately to snatch one up.

Sesshomaru's eyes wondered, going to the developing angles of Inuyasha's jaw, the curve of his neck, the balls of his shoulders. He remembered how hot Inuyasha's skin felt against the face of Seshomaru's hand and how the length of his back had seemed endless, how the dimples of his spine disappeared under his robe, how it reminded Sesshomaru of the rest of Inuyasha he hadn't seen. Sesshomaru remembered his excitement, the feeling of being on top of him, his hand wrapped around his neck - pinning him, weighing him down - skin on skin, bruises exploding across his back. Pain. The length of a blade sticking from the middle of a prisoner, running through and through; a dead weight of the ground. Sesshomaru blinked.

"I killed a man last daybreak." he told, nose in the air, features strong.

Inuyasha paused, hesitant. He chewed slowly, eyes downcast, stubborn, wanting fiercely to hold onto his anger.

"Who?" he said, eventually. Sesshomaru never forgot how easily Inuyasha gave his forgiveness. He smirked.

* * *

There was once, when Inuyasha had been too much of a mule and too little of a geisha to perform a proper dance. Sesshomru had listened, watching the hanyou pout as he tried to explain his reality, of how the balance of a person was just not aligned with the tricks of the dance.

"Show me," Sesshomaru had said, and Inuyasha'd scoffed, refused, gave in. He stood with his cheeks darkening and his eyes shying away. He began with his back crooked and his footwork excessive. His elbows were placed awkwardly every which way and his face was a mask of everything wrong. Sesshomaru snorted, standing, putting his hands to the inu's middle and maneuvering his body to somewhat of an attractive form.

"Truly horrid." Sesshomaru muttered, swaying. Inuyasha followed as best he could but it was a loss, he stumbled, he jerked, he grew too easily frustrated to even give himself a chance - but that wasn't what had caught Sesshomaru's attention. Sesshomaru could nearly feel the meeting of his own fingertips at the center of the inu's back. He frowned, stilling, fanning his fingers under Inuyasha's arms and against his ribcage, thumbing the slight bloom of his waist. Sesshomaru was quite sure that if he flexed his grip, Inuyasha would crumble right between his fingers. He was underfed with limbs stretched to dance instead of trained to fight. Inuyasha was weak.

"I would have you taken away from this teahouse."

Sesshomaru could feel Inuyasha's breath go still in his belly. He began to shift, shrugging out of Sesshomaru's grip, barely getting an arm's distance away before the prince's claws were twisted in his robes, forcing him back - eye to eye, chest to chest. Sesshomaru's features were passive, even as his form remained twisted tight, his posture heated.

"You will stay where I have placed you." he stated, slowing his breath, calming.

Sesshomaru could almost smell Inuyasha's fury then, feel it in Inuyasha's palm as he attempted to shove the full-blood away, his face twisted into a rage. But Inuyasha's rage was a matchstick to Sesshomaru's hell's fire. The hanyou snarled, scratched, yanked, stronger than Sesshomaru would have guessed. Not nearly strong enough.

Sesshomaru's backhand knocked Inuyasha to the ground in less time than it took to breathe.

The hanyou landed crumpled, wheezing out whined breaths against his will, clasping his fingers against his face and balling his remaining hand tight against the ground. Sesshomaru stood above him unapologetically.

He could smell the blood. He wanted to see it.

He'd grabbed the inu both by the collar and an iron grasp to the jaw, bringing Inuyasha up to his own height, forcing him onto his toes. Inuyasha's hand came up to anchor onto Sesshomaru's wrist, printing the sleeve rum red. Even then he struggled, his nose bent into an unnatural angle, eyes wide and angry, glaring unashamed into Sesshomaru's stare, tears unshed.

Blood against his hands, blood across his face, running steadily from his nostrils - bright against the mild tone of his skin. Sesshomaru did adore the sight of fresh blood. He followed it as it ran, creasing between the meet of Inuyasha's snarling lips. He could feel a pleased smile stretching the skin of his own. He was mesmerized.

* * *

When Sesshomaru had first asked his tutor about sex, the bear demon was anything but unforthcoming. He'd angled his body so that he could face Sesshomaru, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and a slimy grin making its way across his face. He told of his own first time, details to which Sesshomaru was less than vaguely interested in. The bear demon was lost in it as he spoke, describing the wild hair on her head and the warm smell of her sweat, the folds of her groin.

"It doesn't always happen that sweet," he said, reflective, barking a curt laugh, "Some are willing and some ain't, by nature. Shy. Scared. Both." he took a moment to breathe, to think, choosing his next statement rather than letting his words fall gracelessly, "We chase by nature. Our bodies allow us to force, by nature, if need be." He grinned, "You see, young lord, your body will wet itself - right at the tip of your cock - enough to make it easy, whether or not your bitch wants it." He leaned back, locking his fingers behind his head and watching the ceiling. Sesshomaru remained.

"Each way has its pleasures. But when they struggle . . ." he'd continued, another backwards grin, "It's primal. It's power's purest form."

* * *

Sesshomaru's father died on the third day of winter; killed in a war begrudgingly and pathetically lost. Seshomaru was crowned, suddenly, numbly, at the age of fifteen summers. The royal rooms were stripped clean and renovated for the new king. His mother was placed in an entirely different wing, her temperament hardened with grief. She spoke to no one. Every face was turned to Sesshomaru, an entire kingdom dependent on his rule and his alone.

Everything changed.

* * *

The next time he'd come to Inuyasha, fourteen moons had passed. The ride to the teahouse was heavier without his father's weight in the next seat. Sesshomaru turned the other way. It was pathetic, truly.

Inuyasha had been there, seated, his posture unsure - as if he'd been there through out the prince's absence, waiting in that same hall. There was a beat of silence as when there eyes met before Inuyasha caught up, giving a lopsided grin, leaning back onto his hands, limbs longer than Sesshomaru remembered and eyes sadder than his temperament let on, "My king." he teased, mocking.

Sesshomaru blinked down at him, sinking to a seated position and watching the inu with a blank expression. It felt odd, sitting there across the wood floorings again. The surface of it was cool, winter against the thin of Sesshomaru's pants. Inuyasha's smile weakened in the silence. Sesshomaru was oddly comforted by it. His stare upon Inuyasha never faltered.

Sesshomaru remembered the fury in Inuyasha's eyes last they'd met.

Inuyasha was far too easy to forgive.

He had grown. Sesshoamru could see it in his face, the way his teeth seemed to fit comfortably now, his jaw angling towards the way of a man. Subtle changes that were weakened by the dressing of his hair, held high and wrapped tight and braided into itself - changes that were weakened by the wide set of his eyes and the dark of his lashes, the erratic twitching of his ears that sat oversized and thick with fur at the peak of his skull. All attributes he'd never out grow. His skin was still tanned a healthy bronze and Sessshomaru's stare followed it, tracing the curve of his neck and the expanse of his shoulders, the way his torso was beginning to V downwards, like that of a warrior's.

"I -" Inuyasha started, his tone cracking with that one syllable. He wasn't looking at Sesshomaru, his eyes cast side ways, "Miss my ma' a lot." he'd concluded, "She -died. Too. Long time ago, but -" he stopped, hunching forward, watching his hands. He was reddening, his fingers fidgeting against one another.

Sesshomaru should have laughed. How insignificant Inuyasha was next to Sesshoaru. How unmentionably feeble his swine mother's death was in comparison to the king's downfall. Sesshomaru should have laughed. But he didn't. He watched Inuyasha, who's mannerism was so shy at this point, who's eyes darted to him and away again. He watched Inuyasha who was then attempting to somehow consolidate Sesshomaru, a task no one had even considered before this moment. He watched Inuyasha and felt his stomach heat.

He remembered the impact of his hand against Inuyasha's face. The heat of his skin. The way it felt to have the inu underneath Sesshomaru, pinning him, caging him against the floor, between Sesshomaru's thighs. Inuyasha felt good. Sesshomaru was hungry for it.

He reached out, wrapping his fingers around the nape of Inuyasha's neck and letting his thumb come around to dip into the ridge of his collar bone. Inuyasha went stiff, hardly letting the breath past his lips - wide eyed, uncertain. Sesshomaru could feel the muscles tighten under Inuyasha's skin. He didn't care. He let his fingers trace upwards, feather light touches across the column of the inu's neck.

Sesshomaru was hard. His undergarments were wrapped too tightly against his groin, the fabric getting wetter against his skin and Sesshomaru's consciousness being all too aware. He watched Inuyasha's skin jump under the pad of his own finger tips as he continued to touch, tracing the fragility of a single vain, chasing the Inu's pulse point before letting his fingers tense against Inuyasha's skin, letting his claws rasp against him; four angry red lines of different degrees, beads of wine colored blood fading into existence - Inuyasha, tearing himself away, clasping his hand where Sesshomaru's had been and nearly falling unto his back trying to distance them. Sesshomaru was quicker.

He grabbed for him, fisting his robes, clutching his wrist, ripping him back, closer, so close they were breathing the same air and Sesshomaru felt his mouth water, felt his heart beat through his fingertips, through the thick of his cock. Inuyasha was snarling at him, all teeth, white fear in his movements and at that point Sesshomaru couldn't help his actions, didn't care to stop himself from seeing him, tearing away at his robes, slicing through his undergarments like they were made from tissue paper. It was messy and Sesshomaru couldn't remove enough of it in one place, the garment knotted against itself and Inuyasha was beginning to panic, was beginning to claw, to twist away, limbs all moving in jerking actions; intent to harm. Sesshomaru hardly noticed.

Inuyasha was tan all over with skin that reminded Sesshomaru of the skin of an oak stripped of its bark. He smelled like the freshness in the grass, like nature but sharper, like the gut of a teabag and the more Sesshomaru revealed of him, the more Inuyasha's scent wafted, swimming through the air like something animate.

Sesshomaru flipped them, twisting Inuyasha so easily, and they were against a wall and Inuyasha was trying reverently, desperately now and it made Sesshomaru positively ache for him, blindly, wanting something his body had never known before this moment and it hurt like the boil of a bath to tired flesh. He kicked up the hem of Iuyasha's robe, what was left of it, yanking the tattered garb upward until it was slid over the inu's hips and Inuyasha was bucking now, pushing himself against the white of the walls, trying his hardest but Sesshomaru was so much bigger, so much stronger, so much heavier and trained a regime fit for a king.

Sesshomaru was so heated, his blood like fire under his skin and his hand tangled in Inuyasha's hair, holding him where he was while his eyes went southward, roaming the flesh of Inuyasha's cheeks, palming him open one-handedly, wondering how all of what Sesshomaru had was going to fit into something so tiny. There was a pause, the hall filling with the sounds of Inuyasha's ragged breath, the sound of his claws breaking against the cement behind the walls, and then the whisper of Sesshomaru's hakama as he revealed himself.

Sesshomaru was leaking a stream of fluid, his cock erect and curving upwards and Sesshomaru grasped himself, his muscles jumping in pleasure form his own touch and his fingers tightening against the snowy white locs of hair he still had twisted in his clutches.

Sesshomaru's body was almost completely against the geisha's now, pinning him against the walls with the length of himself, feeling the thunder of Inuyasha's heart against his back and the pathetic shutterings he gave at Sesshomaru's first touch, could feel the vibrations of the inu's growled out cry when Sesshomaru kneed his thighs open.

Inuyasha was hot against the head of it, almost doughy as Sesshomaru breached him, pushed in with a slickness that had Inuyasha's breath strangled from him, his body tensing to an impossible degree, tight, so tight around his king and Sesshomaru relished in it, didn't stop until there was nothing left to push in. Sesshomaru felt his lips part, felt his own breath come out silently between his teeth, felt himself get wetter inside the inu, branding him even fuller with Sesshomaru - everything Inuyasha was was Sesshomaru now and the lord felt that with a rage.

He fucked him, placing his hands at either side of Inuasha's hips to hold him steady, nosing the skin of his neck before letting his teeth sink into the curve of his shoulder and Inuyasha was sobbing now, Sesshomaru could hear it, could smell the bitterness of his tears and he retracted his jaw so that he could sink down again, this time high onto the muscle of his neck.

This wasn't enough - Sesshomaru wanted to see him, to watch his eyes as the staff of Sesshomaru's cock invaded him, fucking him so completely - Seshsomaru needed to see the clench in his jaw as he was humiliated by the tears that ran down his cheeks, as he cursed the weakness of his own body, the weakness that allowed him to be claimed, to be used like a lowly bitch to be breed.

Sesshomaru came with his claws digging deep against Inuyasha's hipbones, with his seed thick and bursting in globs from Inuyasha's rim, with Inuyasha's skin between his teeth, Inuyasha's blood weak against his tongue. It wasn't enough.


	2. two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “If he does not return,” she whispered, her voice a strangled hiss, “I’ll kill you.”
> 
> His skin felt like the blue of a fire, raw and tight but despite this, he felt the slightest upturn of his lips as he responded.
> 
> “You can try.”
> 
> Inuyasha is at a crossroads.

They’d found him when the morning light had just begun to dance up the floorings, found him laying amongst the warmth with his robes in ragged strips, exposing already bruising flesh. Locks of hair had landed in disarray about his skull, falling in waves indented from the intricate braided bun it held previously – indented from the braid it held before –

Inuyasha shook his head almost violently against the memory, against the other geisha boys rushed questions, against their panic. They were circling him now, faces a mixture of shock and alarm. The punctures on Inuyasha’s neck were pulling painfully as he watched. Their scent was nothing but fear. They whispered, sniffing the air, scenting the smell of night, like firewood and freshwater. Scenting what Inuyasha had already had burned through his nose and into his memory, scenting the stench of their king and semen and sweat and a sorrow that lay bone deep. Inuyasha felt his head spin, his stomach climbing into his throat.

The boys were close now, getting closer still with their whispers and pointed questions, but none dared touch Inuyasha’s trembling frame least their scent be marred alongside the evidence of his stolen innocence – evidence of profit taken from the tea house, profit he’d given away.

They feared him. They feared for him.

He hunched, retching bile across the wooded tile.

* * *

He was presented to the Mother by one of the older boys – Mai – who’d stumbled upon them on his way elsewhere. Mai looked to him differently than the younger boys, a look of worry instead of panic, understanding as opposed to pity. He led the hanyou with a wool blanket thrown around his shoulders and a sympathetic hand placed lightly atop his lower back. Inuyasha wanted to bite it off, to rip himself away from the boy’s touch, his stare. An anger he’d never felt before was burning liquid fire in his belly.

She’d answered her door with an unpainted face and the silk of her robe dragging at her feet, interrupted from her prayers and inherently angry at the fact. Her expression dropped once ruby red eyes landed upon the hanyou’s shaken frame.

He stood with his lip between his teeth and sunlit eyes watching nothing but his sock clad feet as the mother towered over him wordlessly. He tried not to think of how his socks were the only garment remaining in place and whole on his body. He clutched the blanket tighter against his chest.

She turned and disappeared further into the room, their silent invite. Inuyasha followed with a limp, a wet agony between his thighs. He bit down hard against it as they began to sit, the silence stretching, the mother’s eyes jumping across his person, her mind coming to conclusions before Inuyasha could so much as exhale, her expression calmly upturned – analyzing him.

“Remove it.”

Her voice startled him, deep and echoing. Mai was on him before he knew what to expect, ripping the wool from his figure remorselessly.  Inuyasha growled, an angry broken sound, grabbing for it with jagged broken claws and weak efforts. The air was cold, his skin raw against it.

The mother watched his exposed form without comment, watched him crumble into his efforts, shivering with his own blazing emotions. Everyone stood silent aside the sound of Inuyasha’s growling breath, his strangled whine, a pitiful mixture of sound.

The mother tapped once, twice on her silk clad knee before letting her eyes look towards the window, watching dawn turn to day before speaking again, her voice a pillar of confidence.

“We will wait for his return.”

Inuyasha felt the broken end of his claw dig into his palm, the point of a fang beginning to tear into his lower gums, that unfamiliar anger now roaring within him, brimming tears into his eyes and stiffness into his shoulders.

“I ain’t going to see him.” His voice was broken, a whisper Inuyasha didn’t recognize. The Mother remained unfazed, watching the inu fight the tears that wanted to fall, watching him shake with emotion.

“Would you fetch a hot spot of tea, my sweet boy?”

Mai nodded once, leaving them with the soft pat of his trained footfalls barely audible. She rose as the older geisha slid the door shut behind him, walking to her hand mirror and fingering the powders that lay at its side.

“Do you know the sum I’ve spent on you, little inu-hanyou?” she asked, picking a glass case of white powder to begin mixing, “I sacrificed nearly eight hundred yen for you -- quite the investment – and that is not including the gifts of housing and meals I have lent your way; raising you, watching you grow.”

Inuyasha wanted to hit her, wanted to hit anyone, wanted to cry, wanted to run, wanted to get the heavy weight of shame off his shoulders, away from his hammering heartbeat that hadn’t stopped roaring in his ears and against his chest since—

The glass of her bowl made soft clinks as she began her mixing. Inuyasha watched the pure white paste form in her hands with golden eyes hooded and head bowed.

“Alas, you did not disappoint. Just striking, you are.” She hummed in agreeance with her own statement, studying Inuyasha through the vanity as she slowed her wrist to a lazy lull, “Suitors have been asking of you since your first dance—regardless of how hideous it may have been. A guaranteed profit,” she paused, “Or so I thought.”

She moved onto her brushes then, dipping the hairs into a pit of oil laying readily to the side before gently dabbing the skin of her face. There were a few moments of nothing, where she watched the shine of her reflection as Inuyasha tried to remain still, tried to ignore the slick mess exiting his body, smearing further onto his skin. He felt disgusting, wanted nothing but the burn of a bath so hot that it may dissolve his skin with it, dissolve the echoing touch and the accompanying bruises.

“You are worth next to nothing now.” She sighed, speaking calmly; uncaring.

The shame erupted in his chest then and he couldn’t help it any longer, suddenly feeling so small and so young as the waiting tears rolled from his eyes, dripping towards the floor on his downturned face, running off the tip of his nose in fat droplets. His arm came up to shield himself, to scrub angrily at his face, to get rid of it all.

_You are worth next to nothing now._

“That’s not true.” Inuyasha’s voice was beginning to get its base back; a hint of cracked normalcy in his tone that was betrayed by the tears that wouldn’t stop, by his eyes that wouldn’t leave the floor beneath them.

Her laugh was boisterous, “Isn’t it?” she exclaimed before pausing to think, “ _Well_ … perhaps not.”

Mai returned then, placing the steaming pot onto the mat between them, little green tea herbs floating atop the water. Peppermint wafted through the air as the mother began her work, starting at her collar bone and lifting her brush until it left an even strip of white, neck to chin.

A moment’s silence until she spoke again, more to her own reflection than anyone else.

“Perhaps not, my little inu-hanyou.”

* * *

 

Inuyasha had never truly felt fear. He’d been afraid before, startled into scary thoughts—a creepy story told at the mouth of an older boy, one of his peers jumping out at him from behind the rice papered shoji door—but always only for a moment. This was different.

It wasn’t until days after everything that he recognized it, when he was afraid of closing his eyes for seeing visions—long  manicured claws indented into the flesh of his hips, until he felt every hair lift on his body every time another boy stood just a hair too close, until the sight of these burgundy walls made him remember a crushing hand at the back of his neck, until the memories became unavoidable. Inuyasha had never truly felt fear until he was afraid all the time.

* * *

 

“A courtesan?”

“…Of sorts.”

Inuyasha was confused.

He stayed quiet, allowing the older greyer sensei to lead him away from his original classes and to an unknown destination, to a new series of rooms where the other boys were taught—the courtesans. Their walk was quiet and elongated by the older demons weathered steps. The pair covered half the teahouse grounds before the hawk demon spoke in a slow and cracked speech, “I will miss your lopsided grin, my boy. The class will be a touch duller without your little antics to fill the time every now and again.”

Neither of them mentioned how dull the classroom had already become in the weeks passing. Inuyasha hadn’t uttered so much of a word to anyone, let alone a joke or a smile. He seemed to only feel two things since that night; afraid and angry. Sometimes both.

Inuyasha rolled his hands into his sleeves before speaking, his voice uncharacteristically soft, “What’s a courtesan, Kiko sensei?”

There was a breath of silence where the only sound was the crunch of grass under their feet. The teacher took this moment to pause, thinking of how to phrase the information to the newly delicate hanyou, “Do you know what geisha do, inu pup?”

Inuyasha paused, “Geisha entertain the guests… so they can give money and pay their debt to mother.”

Kiko hummed in agreeance, “Yes, and courtesan are the same way. Only, where geisha dance and perform, courtesan entertain matters of the flesh.”

Inuyasha’s breath caught, that now familiar anger burning against his spine, his claws itching to get into something, his muscles jumping under his skin. He halted where he stood, jaw clenching, claws digging into where they gripped his wrists under his sleeves.

It was a few feet before Kiko noticed his absence, “Inuyasha, what—”

“I ain’t doing that.”

Inuyasha’s words were breathed out through chattering teeth, frozen where he stood.

Afraid and angry—sometimes both.

“You would be a special case, little hanyou—only for the king’s touch, if he so wishes—”

“I ain’t _fucking_ doing that!”

He felt sick again, could feel the sting of teeth sinking into his shoulder, could feel the smothering heat from Sesshomaru’s much larger frame enveloping his own, claws twisted tight in his hair—

The sensei was returning now, his pace slow and steady, “Inuyasha,” he began, nearing the shaking pup with caution, “You must do what you can do to survive.”

Inuyasha shook his head, the fear chilling his spine and heating his cheeks, the tears fighting to return. He could feel his stomach coil as he took a step backwards, then another.

“And if you cannot survive the lifestyle the fates have dealt you, then you must make a choice, young one.”

Inuyasha stopped himself, watching the older demon unexpectantly. His thoughts were racing, confusion crossing his features.

“I don’t only mean survival of the body— _your mind_ —your mind is most important, pup.” He continued, his stare intense, “And if you feel your mind can’t survive this—you must do what you can do to _survive_.”

He couldn’t mean to leave. Inuyasha shook his head again; where would he go? How would he live, alone, with no one to help him—he couldn’t.

“I got nowhere to go...” Inuyasha said, shaking his head of it.

Kiko stood over him now, old and weathered, with bellowing robes of greyed burlap surrounding his frame and sweeping his sandaled feet. He laughed then, wagging a bent finger and stepping away before continuing, “There’s a whole world out there, inu-pup. There is always somewhere to go.”

Inuyasha looked down at himself, the red of his pants dusted with debris, his wrists small and bloodied—weak. There was a moment before anyone said anything.

“I can’t.” he said finally, his voice a whisper, his eyes downcast. The bird demon sighed, coming to an old oak stump a few feet away and resting, plopping down unto it with a _thud_. There was a restful silence, where the birds sang faintly, and the rustle of the wind was a hush against their skin.

“I taught your mother, you know.” Kiko began, calming, looking up to the blues in the sky, “She was your opposite—shy, calm, saved her voice for only a few ears.” He shook his head in contentment at the memory, a whisper of a smile lifting the corners of his mouth, “She was so proud when she heard your first cry—a fat little hanyou pup with white hair and golden eyes! No one could get enough of you.”

His mother’s memory filled him with a third feeling, one he hadn’t felt since fear and anger became the only things he knew. The feeling of an old love began to crack through the enormous pressure in his chest—small but there.

“Izayoi never wanted you here—wanted to pack up the day you were born, she did.” He shook his head in a different way now, saddened, “The teahouse mother wouldn’t allow it. Izayoi still owed her, you see. And before she could gather enough yen together at one time—they were already taking notice of you… such a rare beauty. Profit for the teahouse, no doubt. So, the mother forced Izayoi’s hand—told her if she didn’t offer your name, then she’d have you cast out. And as small as you were…” he made a _tsking_ sound with his mouth, conveying the message wordlessly, “That was then,” he continued, watching Inuyasha now, his look pointed, “You are much larger now.”

Inuyasha watched him with intensity, never before hearing this version of the story. He remained on the ground, the dirt cool under his palms, the spots of grass wafting pleasantly into his nostrils, and the sun warming the tips of his ears. With the sweet memory of his mother’s dimpled face fresh in his mind and the suns soft warmth on his cheeks, it was the first time in a long time he felt okay.

Kiko stood then, the effort of it winding him, “You are small in body, but your strength lays within. Exercise it.” He began to retreat, slowly making his way back where they came and Inuyasha watched without words, trying desperately to hang onto the brief calm they’d established.

“Inu-pup,” Kiko muttered, stopping a few feet away, “Promise to see me before, if you chose to go. Promise this.”

Inuyasha watched his back with confusion, squinting at the old man for a few moments before relenting, “I swear.” he responded, watching the older demon’s single nod and subsequent further retreat.

“You will see yourself the remaining way. It’s not much farther from here.”

Inuyasha said nothing. The wind began to whisper and he closed his eyes with it, feeling his body relax against the cool air, his mind whirling through one single thought.

_There’s a whole world out there, inu-pup. There is always somewhere to go._

* * *

 

Sesshomaru had returned on the first night of fall, when the air sat still and cold and the surrounding trees were beginning to burst with colors, burnt oranges and rustic reds. The night stood calm and dark, the sky pitch black but for the multitude of stars stretching across the onyxed air.

Sesshomaru had returned on the first night of fall, when the air sat still and cold, and Inuyasha was human.  

Inuyasha had refused.

His voice was calm, his darkened gaze staring straight forward, even as his hands shook in tight blunted fists at his side.

The apprentice dancer who was sent to fetch him pleaded with the inu-pup, throwing nervous glances backwards every few hushed words before giving up, before getting the Mother.

She’d entered with additional company, with a wailing human servant boy, a shaking mass of pale limbs kept at her side with an iron grip to his upper arm. His body was angled and awkward, slanted from the Mother’s hand. Inuyasha stilled, watching the servant’s erratic behavior, petrified and small, smaller than Inuyasha even, smaller than any of the boys he’d seen kept here thus far—maybe only five or six summers lived.

The mother looked to Inuyasha, her expression unashamed as she explained his presence. They wouldn’t hit Inuyasha—couldn’t—not without marring him. Hurting a Kings claim was foolish indeed. Instead, they would hurt the boy—Akinari she called him. She would remove things, starting with Akinari’s toes, then going upwards. It was his choice—Inuyasha’s choice.

Akinari was almost hysterical now and Inuyasha hated him, hated himself. He hesitated, and the Mother growled with all teeth, pointed white fangs gleaming hugely behind red painted lips just as she flexed her fingers, filling the room with the wet sound of bones breaking and Inuyasha watched as Akinari’s arm was released, broken just above the elbow and bending at an unnatural angle under his shirt. His scream was the most disturbing thing Inuyasha ever did hear, since or before.

It didn’t take additional persuasion after that.

* * *

 

Inuyasha felt nothing sitting on the cold wooden floors of that same hall, felt an enveloping emptiness in his chest, a numb void. Sitting on the cold wooden floors of that same hall at his request—Sesshomaru’s request. Inuyasha couldn’t think of anything that was crueler, so he forced himself not to, forced himself to let the emptiness envelop him. His darkened human eyes stared into nothing, looked passed the faint orange glow of candlelight, spilt in from the outside.

Everything had happened fast. He was scrubbed and dressed in robes he’d only ever seen, never felt; silks so soft and so expensive they felt like water. His hair fell thick and straight, more manicured than it had ever been by his own hands alone as it lay heavy over each shoulder—stark black against the white of his robes—stopping bluntly at the rum red obi tied firm and tight around his waist.

Inuyasha was trapped in someone else’s skin, skin that was so opposite his own, so inherently _not_ himself. The skin of a babydoll—empty and cold—and he may have been able to embody that charactercher if he could stop his hands from shaking, if he could stop his teeth from clamping and shuttering iron tight against one another.

There were voices he couldn’t decipher with human ears, voices that were muffled but getting closer as the seconds lengthened.

“We beg your excusal of his appearance, my lord,” the voice said, the mother’s, “He shall be as you remember him on the morrow.”

And then Sesshomaru was there, the door to the hall sliding closed with a gentle brush of sound and Sesshomaru walking towards him with the patience of a monk, the calmness you got from inheriting the top of the food chain.

Sesshomaru neared him then, sitting in the spot across from him now too small for his frame to look natural upon and Inuyasha stared straight ahead, his breath heavier with each second spent, his teeth grinding, his hands nearing a crushing degree against one another, every bit of him trembling from it—the anger.

He refused to look at him, Sesshomaru, refused to look at the side of the hall his innocence would forever be stained upon, refused to look anywhere but to that window. He concentrated on the fireflies as they flickered dim light like stars against the opaque of the screen.

Sesshomaru was silent across from him, his eyes skating Inuyasha’s human form with mild interest, nose twitching, clawed fingers resting peacefully within the sleeves of his robes.

There were a million thoughts racing through Inuyasha’s head, loud, angry thoughts that were coming too fast, leaving too frequently for him to keep ahold of a single one.

“Why—" Inuyasha growled, the sound more guttural than human. Everything was silent, including the thoughts in his head, the rest of the questions falling black behind this single one—the most important—what had kept him from eating his first few days, from sleeping his first few weeks. Inuyasha looked to him now, seeing Sesshomaru for the first time since he’d entered those doors.

 “W-why did you—” he stopped himself, swallowing the rest of the question, tearing his glare away from the full-blood and back towards the window. Inuyasha wanted it all to stop. He felt the blunt ends of his nails break skin within his fists.

Sesshomaru considered him, slanted golden irises jumping from the dark tendrils of hair to the bloodied creases of human fingers.

“The why is of no consequence,” he stated, “You were mine to claim.”

There was a beat of silence where Inuyasha breathed air that felt like lead in his lungs and Sesshomaru reached a pale hand across the space between them. It was light, a slight brush of clawed fingertips against the silken fabric, featherlight touches that had Inuyasha frozen where he sat, that had his heart beat stop, his head a sudden blank canvas of noise. Then he reacted, all his fear, all at once—scowling, baring human teeth and flexing away.

Too slow.

Sesshomaru had him by the throat, just firm enough to halt his retreat, just firm enough to light a panic in his human counterpart and Inuyasha whimpered out a sound that he didn’t recognize, that he didn’t claim. He kicked his legs out, his hands coming forward to grip Sesshomaru’s wrist, to twist and scratch at his full effort, his heart seeming to vibrate his whole body with alarm.

Sesshomaru watched his futile attempts with indifference, his palm feeling the erratic beat of Inuyasha’s heart against his skin and blinking down at him, his expression of light amusement and his nearly beaming yellow irises scanning the smaller human, watching the point of his jaw nearly crumble under his own rage.

Sesshomaru considered how easily he could read the hanyou now, how this human façade gave away his anger in different ways—the curl of his lip instead of the poke of a fang, the mess of emotions splayed across the scrunch of his nose. He watched him until he could count the sun spots fading from his cheeks, until he felt hot tears pitter unto his skin and his eyes jumped back to Inuyasha’s, to the angry tears spilling from his flaring eyes and Inuyasha twisted his face up, curled his features into that of malice and this, too, was fear. He realized what Inuyasha was defending himself so desperately from, what had his pulse hammering though skin. Sesshomaru smiled.

“You needn’t worry,” he drawled, watching Inuyasha’s smaller frame shimmer from the proximity—from the memory, “My tastes don’t extend to humans.”

Inuyasha doesn’t remember how or when it had happened—the reaction so quick it teetered on instinctual. All he remembers is that anger, that overwhelming fury making his eyes burn, his teeth clenching so hard against each other he felt it in his gums and with his strength lacking, with the king’s ability reigning higher than his own he did the only thing he could—he spat a glob of saliva the size of an infant’s fist right in the face of the highest reigning being in the western hemisphere.

He watched in silent rage, watched the mucus trickle down a porcelain cheek and Sesshomaru remained frozen, looking down at the hanyou for a breaths time, his features a temporary mask of shock before crumpling into ferocity.

The first punch to the jaw knocked him out cold, the resounding crack of bone snapping out of place and its white hot jolt of pain being the last thing the hanyou remembered before he went black and this he believed was his reward. The God’s had allowed him to fall comatose for the remainder of Sesshomaru’s violent outbreak because Inuyasha had won.

He’d fought back for the first time and it felt good—a sparking energy in his veins—even in the face of the brutal repercussions. He’d fought back for the first time and it wouldn’t be the last.

* * *

 

The mother had been enraged, her punishments involved as to not leave any markings not already there from the king’s own hand. It was after they’d forced him into a bath with the water nearly at a boil that she’d looked to him, eyes full of malice.

“If he does not return,” she whispered, her voice a strangled hiss, “I’ll kill you.”

Inuyasha met her stare with even eyes laced with stubbornness, laced with the resilience of someone who’d survived worse than her. Someone who’d survived worse than most. His skin felt like the blue of a fire, raw and tight but despite this, he felt the slightest upturn of his lips as he responded.

“You can try.”

* * *

 

Sesshomaru returned a week later, this time while the sun was highest in the sky and the heat of the day made even the flies lazy in their flights, bobbing heavily within the air and close to the swatting hands of those within the teahouse.

It was a royal room this time, the same one the late king had frequented, with sheer silks lining the walls and windows and the floor being mostly made from the cushions of a futon, piles of luxury pillowed adornments littering the surface. 

Inuyasha sat in the midst of it, thick snowy tendrils pulled tight into a ponytail at the top of his skull to keep it from tangling in the heat, bangs moistened with sweat on his forehead.

He hated this room. He hated it more than he hated anything. It was hot, with the embroidered fabric of the futon doing nothing but exaggerating the temperature. He took a pointed claw and plucked at the material, creating tiny tears in the shape of little horseshoes, distracting himself so he didn’t have to think of what these rooms were used for, of what side of the teahouse they were now on.

The door slid open and a courtesan with a shock of short red hair and slanted black eyes shuffled into the space. Inuyasha loosely recognized him, watching him as he fell to his knees and slid into a bow so low his chin nearly hit the wooded panels of the floor. Sesshomaru walked passed him like he was a part of the décor.

Inuyasha’s heart still hammered and he felt a sudden chill in the summer air as those doors slid shut, as the fox demon left them to themselves. He clamped his hands together to keep them from shaking, but he could look to him now—to Sesshomaru—he could look to him without feeling like dying. Small victories.

Sesshomaru didn’t acknowledge him, getting comfortable sitting on bent knees and busying himself pouring a spot of steaming tea from the kettle between them. The steam wafted up as if it were alive, filling Inuyasha’s nose with the warm scent of jasmine and white cream, a fake calm—a lie.

 “I should have you muzzled.”

Sesshomaru’s voice was startling, his deep sure tone interrupting the previous stretched silence. Inuyasha said nothing; his voice was stuck in his throat and he hated it, hated this feeling of weakness more than he hated Sesshomaru himself.  He returned his gaze to his shaking hands, jaw clenched, eyes nearly dancing with it—the anger.

“I should have every one of those little bastard teeth ripped from behind your lips.”

Sesshomaru watched him from behind the rim of his tea cup. Inuyasha could feel his eyes burning him, lifting the hairs on his arms. He said nothing.

“I should force myself down your throat until you’ve earned pardon.”

An expression of adolescent confusion marred Inuyasha’s face then, eyebrows knitted and jaw clenched. Whatever Sesshomaru had meant, Inuyasha wasn’t partial towards the thought of him near his neck. He thought of when he was a boy, thought of watching the bigger geisha force a frog down a kid’s throat, its legs still jumping from the inside of his cheek. He thought of the sound of their laughter, pubescent and careless. He thought of Akinari. His fingers balled themselves into fists, the anger now always waiting in the fringes heightening, advancing to the forefront.

 “I’ll _fucking_ _kill_ _you_ if you touch me again.”

There was a stony silence after those words were spoken, a beat of tense stillness that was disrupted by only Inuyasha’s short fuming breathes. He kept his eyes to the floor, even seething as he was, even as the breath came out in thick spouts from his nostrils, even as his knuckles seemed to want to crack under the pressure of his own fists.

There was a moment of nothing, a pregnant pause where Sesshomaru watched; calculating. Then he heard the clink of the tea cup returning to its saucer, the whisper of silk as Sesshomaru began untying the bow holding his yukata top and Inuyasha’s heat raged.

He moved to stand, stumbling, rising to his knees as to not take whatever was coming laying down because he couldn’t survive that again—couldn’t live through whatever came next without at least meeting it half way and it was like slow motion the happenings of things. Inuyasha couldn’t even unfold to his true height before Sesshomaru was on top of him, the exchange taking less than the time it took to blink and he was _so_ _heavy,_ heavier than Inuyasha could remember, if he’d even allowed himself to remember, to think of the last time he couldn’t breathe but for the mass of what seemed to be pure muscle caging him.

He was bucking—afraid and angry—trying to throw his torso against Sesshomaru’s in a panic, movements full of dread and eyes almost blind with the rage of it and he was spitting with frustration, the terror making his heart seem like one continuous beat in his chest—but he absolutely _froze_ when he felt it.

Sesshomaru remained immovable above him, the heavy silk of his yukata top hanging open and pooling on the floor on either side of them both. Sesshomaru’s seemingly endless locs of hair settled every which way as they both remained still, a few strands tickling the skin on Inuyasha’s face but he couldn’t feel them to even notice, couldn’t feel anything but where he and Sesshomaru met in the middle, hip to hip, with Sesshomaru in between Inuyasha’s bent knees, clawed hands holding the half-blood down by his forearms crushed against the floor beneath them. 

Sesshomaru felt like the hilt of a sword against Inuyasha’s pelvis and he couldn’t feel the anger any more, fear now feeling all consuming and he closed his eyes against it, clamping them shut so tightly he saw colors. Sesshomaru’s scent seemed to be as prominent as his stature, filling his head with flashbacks so vivid, he forced his eyes back open if only to dissipate the memory.

At this point, Inuyasha didn’t know if it was worse to relive the feeling of Sesshomaru’s claws digging into the flesh of his hips through his torturous memory or to open his eyes to the pale planes of his chest in person, Sesshomaru’s torso so close to his own that Inuyasha could see the near translucent silver hairs trailing down his lower abdomen—trailing down to the significant bulge he had to tear his eyes away from to keep from losing the small semblance of sanity he had left.

Sesshomaru was staring down at him, his expression smug, his stare bright with intensity, “I’m waiting,” he’d said, taunting, pushing his hips harder onto his counterpart, deeper against Inuyasha’s middle, “ _Kill_ _me_.”   

The anger. Inuyasha’s anger proved to be as unpredictable as spring rain—and just as consistent. It may have been a mixture of everything—Sesshomaru’s arousal like a glass bottle against his middle, the smell of him _everywhere_ Inuyasha turned, the smell of him on Inuyasha himself, the weight of the dog king steadily feeling heavier and heavier as the seconds turned to minutes turned to what felt like an eternity crushed by him— _everything_ was to blame and Inuyasha could feel his senses getting darker, could feel himself lose control over his own body, over his own actions and then Sesshomaru stopped—sensing something, hearing footfalls towards the direction of this room, but Inuyasha didn’t see that, could only see that anger, could only _feel_ that anger like acid in his blood.

Before he knew it, Sesshomaru’s split second distraction, the young king’s slight loosening of Inuyasha’s weight—before he knew—he’d slipped one arm from under Sesshomaru’s grasp, the motion almost inhumane and he swiped his claws—raking Sesshomaru’s face from cheekbone to upper lip, four jagged claw marks; exposed skin to the bone.

Inuyasha had never before brought anyone to bleed and the smell of it shocked and intoxicated him all at once, frozen in the moment as he was bombarded with the sight of Sesshomaru’s near perfect complexion split in an almost half by the ruby red of it, by the stained white of his fang now exposed through a tattered upper lip.

The anger was gone and, suddenly, the fear as well, replaced by a blanket feeling of nothing that had Inuyasha feeling almost euphoric in the emptiness of it all, trapped in a slow-motion version of things.

He watched Sesshomaru’s look of almost confusion from the sting of it—confusion from someone close enough to harm succeeding in that right—and what came next was a feral growl that felt as if it had the whole house shaking and the spell was broken, the void calm Inuyasha had only just established gone quicker than it came and the anger was back like it’d never retreated so he aimed again, an instinctual move of defense. Sesshomaru blocked him with bone crushing grip to his wrist, slamming it back to the ground, but nothing more.

Sesshomaru didn’t retaliate, he only stared, his vision tinting red and his jaw rocking slightly, testing the pull of the scabs already beginning to form but he said nothing—did nothing, his growl eventually calming into the sound of warning, slight in comparison.

Then there was a knock, bold and urgent upon the wooden shoji screens separating them from the rest of the teahouse; from the rest of the world. It wasn’t until Sesshomaru gave oral confirmation to the visitor that Inuyasha realized that he was shaking within the elder demon’s grip.

The king’s guard who entered almost stumbled on nothing but air as he was presented with the sight before him, his king in between the legs of the halfling geisha, bloodied with the evidence of harm stained on the boy’s claws. He fell to his knees in delayed a bow of respect once remembering himself.

“Speak.” Sesshomaru commanded. He never broke eye contact with Inuyasha even as the boar demon told of an attack on the wall, men lost, a battle begun by surprise.

There was a moment where no one spoke, a stretched silence where Sesshomaru watched Inuyasha as if the guard wasn’t even there and Inuyasha met his stare, the heat behind his eyes still raging, his pulse jumping at unnatural speeds.

“Leave us.”

The demon retreated without comment.

Sesshomaru watched Inuyasha for a moment longer before Inuyasha could feel his grip loosen and retreat all together. He watched the young king as he straightened himself, standing and tying his yukata as if the world wasn’t just flipped, as if the flesh of his face wasn’t hanging from his skull.

Inuyasha remained frozen where he lay, on his back with his fists clenched and his eyes towards the panels of the ceiling. He could feel the blood drying on his skin, could feel it begin to flake against the surface of his claws.

Sesshomaru paused once he reached the shoji, his back to Inuyasha, the clean side of his face tilted slightly so that he could see him.

“A scarce few have accomplished what you have today.” He goaded, almost casual in his mannerism, “I will return.”

The doors slid closed and Inuyasha felt the weight of the world lift from his gut.

* * *

 

They’d thought him dead when witnessing the king’s retreat, when witnessing the monstrous scab forming across his jaw. No one believed anyone could do damage to that extent and live. When they found the inu-hanyou living, no one believed Sesshomaru would return. Inuyasha didn’t bother correcting them.

This time, it was thirty lashes to the back. The Mother had broken four bamboo rods against the skin of his spine before she was through. Inuyasha couldn’t even find the strength to breathe.

He regretted nothing.

* * *

 

It was three nights this time. Lucky that because the Mother had promised she’d end him if the young lord didn’t return within six days. Inuyasha couldn’t find it in him to be relieved.

“I’ve decided that your responses are based purely on instinct.”

They were standing now, present in the same room, while the sun had just started its retreat behind the clouds and the temperature was beginning to shift to that of the winter. Sesshomaru could reach out and touch him if he wanted to, but he remained within arms distance—hands by his side. Inuyasha’s guard remained tense regardless, his heart still unable to calm when within the vicinity of the elder demon, his hands nearly always in defensive fists.

Sesshomaru’s stare was… curious. Inuyasha didn’t know how else to describe it.

“I’ve never trained on how to oppose instinctual movements.” He continued, flexing clawed fingers without threat.

Inuyasha looked passed him. Their height difference was significant, and he wouldn’t bring himself to look up to the silver haired inu, king or not. It was strange to be standing opposite of him, with Inuyasha’s forehead reaching the ball of Sesshomaru’s shoulder, his eyelevel at the full blood’s chest. Despite this, Inuyasha decidedly liked it better than remaining seated, liked how it gave him a false confidence; a ready stance as opposed to a dormant one. He felt almost equal in a backwards way, especially with the skin of Sesshomaru’s cheek still displaying the slightest trace of disturbance—a pale jagged line not yet healed—a token of their last visit. Inuyasha displayed a small sad smile at the memory, flexing his fingers within his palm.

Instinct? He could agree with that.

“So, I will train with you.”

Inuyasha’s gaze snapped to Sesshomaru’s, his mouth opening as to respond but his mind finding that he had nothing to say. Despite the happenings as of late, Inuyasha had never found himself on the shy side of a fight. However, he was no fool and he wasn’t in the business of looking for ass whooping’s.

Sesshomaru was a near three summers his elder—with the proportions to prove it. He stood a near foot taller and, if experience was anything to go by, had a near quarter more body weight.

And though he would never admit it, Inuyasha was still haunted by nightmares of Sesshomaru—memories of the buck of his hips like gash of a knife, claws raking the skin of his scalp as they clutched the thick of his hair between those fingers. His stomach lurched at the thought.

He shook his head. Inuyasha was no fool.

“We will make an exchange.” Sesshomaru suggested.

Inuyasha paused, not understanding. Was he giving him a choice?

“I ain’t doing it.” His voice was softer than intended but firm; unchanging. Inuyasha felt the progress.

Sesshomaru went on without affect, “We will spar,” he mused, glancing to the twitch of Inuyasha’s ears without faltering his speech, without leaving his neutral expression.

“Accomplish one hit. If you succeed against me, this Sesshomaru, Lord of the western lands, owner of the throne and ruler of my people will retract my claim indefinitely.”

Inuyasha blinked.

“I will never touch you again.” He clarified, and Inuyasha went still.

He may be a fool after all.

After all, he’d done it before, right?

Inuyasha’s first attempt was devastating, swung too high, aim too slow. Sesshomaru stepped out of the way with ease. He tried again, this time coming closer but still missing by a longshot—Sesshomaru was too quick and he hadn’t the element of surprise like previously. So Inuyasha tried to be quicker. He swung repeatedly, ignoring the pull of the bruising on his back, ignoring everything but the white of Sesshomaru’s jaw, the planes of his chest.

All he needed was _one_ _hit_.

He became desperate for it, winding himself, not even coming Goddamn _close_ , and then he went for it with everything he had, pushing his whole form into to it until he was near tackling his counter, until Sesshomaru ended it with a right hook to his jaw, crumpling Inuyasha to the ground in one easy step.

The anger was trying to surface, Inuyasha could feel it in his blood, beginning to heat in his veins but he swallowed it down. He’d known this outcome was expected from the beginning. He had pride in himself for trying. He had pride in himself for fighting back.

How pathetic, he thought—proud of losing. He gave a dejected chuckle form his throat from the thought.

Sesshomaru watched his fallen form, eyes hooded as he traced the tangle of his limbs, the stiffness in his shoulders, “Hn,” he concluded, flexing the knuckles that delivered the blow, “Just as I’d expected.”

“Yeah?” Inuyasha responded, making a move to right himself, to stand through the now screaming pain of what seemed to be his entire spine, his skin lit with it and his words spoken through clenched teeth, “Fuck you.”

He could feel Sesshomaru’s eyes watching him as he fumbled with his own limbs, stumbling before finally achieving an upright position.

“You are pained.” He commented, his eyes pointed; observing. Inuyasha hated it.

“You punched me in my fucking face.” He said, resting himself against the cool of the wall, hooking his hand around a bent knee to glide his fingers across his bruising lower lip.

“Hardly.” Sesshomaru rebutted.

There was a beat of silence, where Inuyasha rotated the hinge of his jaw, licking at the bust of his lip and Sesshomaru remained, eyes nearly glowing in the evening light—watching. Inuyasha could feel those almost piercing yellow eyes sweep his form, could feel his own blood begin to turn cold from that familiar sinking feeling of fear. His fists clenched.

“What do you want from me, Sesshomaru?” he’d asked, his voice a whisper, craning his neck to make eye contact.

Inuyasha could feel it, even if he hadn’t been looking directly to the heat of Sesshomaru’s eyes, the burn of their attention on his skin only seeming to intensify. Inuyasha clenched his jaw, fisting his fingers so hard within his palm, he felt they would break—but he would not look away.

Sesshomaru startled the air with his response, with the seriousness in his tone; the sureness of it.

“Everything.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “He was mine to claim.” He stated, finally.
> 
> “Hai, my lord. So why does it ail you?”
> 
> A flash of his mothers hurt, her eyes glowing with frustration, manicured hands gripping the wood of the balcony.
> 
> Sesshomaru is at a crossroads.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You all's feedback, though small in numbers, has been big in my heart. I am sad to see the Inuyasha ff community dwindling, but glad that I could share with you all still :)

The air is crisp as Sesshomaru steps down from his carriage, the first signs of winter making itself known through a biting cold in the stillness of the air, the almost clear white of the day sky. The atmosphere in the tea house is that of a panic when he arrives, the geisha scattering from him all at once, like warriors on the losing end of a battle. Sesshomaru pauses.

Curious.

* * *

 

“You lost him.”

“He has fled from us,” she corrected, her face a mask of white paint and red lips, “but he will return, my king.”

His inu-pup was devious. Sesshomaru was amused.

“ _He will return_ …” Sesshomaru drawled, his eyes looking towards the outside, the slight drizzle pattering the ground, “Why is this your assumption?”

The mother kept her composure even after the king’s deduction, keeping her eyes to her hands, clasped politely atop her thighs.

“Inuyasha has not so much as stepped foot outside of these walls without escort—has _never_ seen the realities of this world.” Her fingers flexed into themselves, the fabric of her kimono ruffling beneath them, betraying the calm of her tone, “He is weak.” She concluded, “He will return, my lord.”

Sesshomaru looked to her then, to the slant of her stature, the tired in her eyes, sunken into their sockets. She worried. For herself or the hanyou Sesshomaru did not know.

“For your own sake,” he began again, his voice pointed, deep in warning, “I do hope you find him before I do.”

Sesshomaru could hear the breath fall still in her chest.

He rose to leave, not skipping a beat even as he spoke, a last remark thrown over his shoulder as he retreated towards the open shoji.

“He is stronger than you realize.”

* * *

 

It was a near six days’ time when Sesshomaru next spotted that familiar head of white hair, this time unbound and falling in a heap of tangles. Sesshomaru hovered above him for a moment, doing nothing but watching the inu-hanyou as he crouched, bent over the lip of an empty well. He took a moment to see Inuyasha in a different environment than those burgundy walls; surrounded by the green of forestry and completely unbound.

He could feel his brow furrow in confusion at the hanyou’s antics before giving Au-Un a gentle nudge and dropping from the sky to land in the frosted grass below, directly in front of his target. Inuyasha nearly fell backwards, eyes widening, long, wild locs of snowy white hair falling to his hip. Sesshomaru watched him as he stalled, could practically see the knobs in his brain working, golden eyes dancing, trying and failing to think on his feet.

“You thirst?” he’d said, eyes flickering down to the well, to the near blue of Inuyasha’s lips.

He wondered why the hanyou hadn’t fled. Sesshomaru raised in eyebrow at him, eyes traveling his frame, studying the fluidity of his limbs, the tensing of his shoulders—but he was tense from distress, not harm. Then he’d heard it, the rattling in his lungs upon inhale, slight but there.

He was filthy. Dirt clung to the red of his hakama, growing in size until it became mud at the hem. Blisters were covering the pads of his fingers and Sesshomaru counted at least three blunted claws, broken and bloodied from the base. Inuyasha stood tall despite this, meeting Sesshomaru’s stare, the mucus Sesshomaru could hear crowding his airway doing nothing to stop the set of the pup’s jaw, the determination in his eyes.

“You are unwell.”

For a time, Inuyasha said nothing, fists tightening, breath coming out stronger now, posture rigid in preparation for a fight. Sesshomaru found himself biting back laughter; a rare occasion. 

“Leave me the fuck alone, Sesshomaru.”

His speech was slurred, drunken with sickness.

“You are hardly in a position to make demands upon me, inu-hanyou.”

They watched each other, Inuyasha’s stare challenging; resilient. Sesshomaru stepped forward, expecting his hanyou to flee, expecting the chase he realized he was hungry for. Inuyasha didn’t budge.

“Will you not run?” he’d queried, amused.

Inuyasha shook his head once, his lips forming a firm line as he let his fists come upwards, his feet grounding themselves into the dirt—a fighter’s stance.

“I’m done running.” He told, body trembling but stare unwavering, “And I ain’t going back to that teahouse.”

Sesshomaru stopped, watching him; calculating. Inuyasha could hardly keep his balance.

“Hn,” he’d begun, eyes flickering, “You would challenge me, with the odds near completely against you.”

Inuyasha paused and—for a moment—Sesshomaru saw the extreme emotion behind his eyes. Inuyasha shook his head of it before letting his features stretch into a cocky grin, misplaced, empty of any real emotion—a lie.

“I got nothin’ to lose.”

Sesshomaru blinked.

Curious, indeed.

Sesshomaru walked the length of the well, his steps even and paced. Inuyasha’s eyes never broke contact. He eyed the thin sheen of sweat beading against Inuyasha’s hairline, soaking the fine hairs against his forehead.

“You are fevered,” he’d said, speaking slowly, a low calm, “Don’t be foolish. Come willingly.”

Inuyasha’s laugh was a pitiful sound, a breathless gust of air from cracked lips, “You know better.”

* * *

 

There weren’t a great many things Sesshomaru claimed to enjoy. Even as a young lord—where other pups ran in the sun with their peers, jumping into nearby cooling springs, Sesshomaru was often found leaning against the bark of a tree trunk, yellowed eyes half-lidded and uninterested.

As he’d grown older, the list of enjoyments grew with him, albeit slowly. He’d realized he enjoyed the strength behind the slice of a blade, he enjoyed his mother’s silent and calmed presence, her rare stories of childhood. He enjoyed the color red in most circumstances. He enjoyed Inuyasha most of all.

Inuyasha whined. Like a newborn pup, a breathed out high-pitched sound of  distress—a sound of begging. The sound was so appealing, low and involuntary and so rare that Sesshomaru’d tried to analyze it as it happened, tried to study the sound of it, why it was happening and why it would stop.

It was once, when Sesshomaru’d had him on his back with one hand in those thick tendrils of hair and the other holding down both of the smaller demon’s wrists—a learned mistake after the inu-hanyou sliced him across the chest, quick and desperate. That was the trick with Inuyasha, Sesshomaru had learned. He would fight until he couldn’t, would fight until he exhausted himself, until his muscles would buckle and fall limp from it, even as his mind was still raging behind his eyes—and Sesshomaru had seen that rage, seen it in the inu’s stare, unwavering, stronger, even as they were filled with tears he refused to let fall anymore, even with the set of his jaw so tight, the bone jutted out almost unnaturally from the force of it.

It was never in these moments, never in the moments where Inuyasha was still challenging him, still looking Sesshomaru in the eye, still clenching his fists, waiting to strike him again. Always when Sesshomaru wasn’t looking for it, when he was closest to his finish—lost in the tightness of Inuyasha’s body, feeling nothing but the heat of the geisha’s skin and that hot electric pressure in his own gut, building, making him slam himself harder and harder into his counterpart. It was here, when Inuyasha’s eyes were squeezed so tightly against each other that the creases showed up between his brow, in the worry of his lips. He would twist his head away, as far as he could get, and Sesshomaru would grab him, a firm hold to the jaw, his remaining fingers long and strong around the hanyou’s neck—forcing his head back facing frontwards, the tips of their noses bumping on rhythm to Sesshomaru’s thrusts.

It was here—a fucked out whine from the bottom of his throat that Inuyasha himself didn’t even realize he was vocalizing.

Sesshomaru found himself lost in these thoughts while sitting with the small council, while dining with his mother, while training. Seshomaru thought of the wildness of his hair now that it was kept unbound, thick and tumbling—messy. He thought about expanse of Inuyasha’s shoulders, how the strength behind his fists seemed stronger each day. He thought about that teahouse.

He’d had every intention to return the inu back to where he belonged—but then he’d been sick. Then, he’d had every intention to return him after the palace doctors had seen him. Then it was as soon as he was well enough to travel. Now, Sesshomaru didn’t intend to at all.

* * *

 

His mother’s scent drenched the halls leading to the rooms he’d harbored the hanyou in. Sesshomaru followed it until he’d reached his kings guard—a wolf demon standing outside of Inuyasha’s rooms.

He stumbled upright from his slouched position at the king’s arrival, clenching his staff until his knuckles whitened. He began to stutter through an explanation Sesshomaru near completely ignored as he stepped passed him and towards his mother’s chambers.

“You’ve met Inuyasha.” He’d stated, seating himself at the foot of her bed. She stood a few feet away at the balcony, the wind whispering against the hem of her gown.

“My Sesshomaru,” She began, clawed fingers tapping absently against the wood, “He doesn’t belong here.”

Sesshomaru said nothing.

“You will return him.”

“I will not.”

His mother remained with her back to him, her silhouette near black against the vivid colors melting into the horizon.

“You would let a halfling geisha take your mind away from your purpose—away from the kingdom your father gave his _life_ for.”

Sesshomaru paused, “Is there a war I am unaware of?”  


“And if there was, I shudder to think what would become of us.”

“If there was, I will prevail as I always have—”

“He belongs in a teahouse—”

“He belongs to _me_.”

“He is a **_child_** ,” she growled, whipping around, yellowed gaze near identical to his own glowing in the fading light, “A _boy_ , Sesshomaru—hardly fourteen summers lived.”

Her eyes were nearly lit with frustration, emotions blazing, an extreme sadness in her stare—an extreme understanding. She sympathized with him. Sesshomaru was puzzled, eyebrow raised, mind searching. She looked away, snapping her eyes back to the outside, her shoulders nearly vibrating with emotion.

Sesshomaru’s mind brought him back to a previous time, a prior conversation they’d shared in a similar circumstance—the only other time he’d discussed the geisha with his mother. He remembered her laugh, her mocking, her final statement.

_Look harder, my Sesshomaru. There is little difference between he and I._

“My Sesshomaru,” She said again, turning back to him with eyes softening, tone nearly at a whisper, “Perfect in every way save empathy.”

* * *

 

Sesshomaru looked passed the words on the page in front of him, his mind reeling between his ears. He could feel the stare of his tutor boring into the side of his head, could see the icy blue of his eyes watching him in his peripheral. Sesshomaru set his jaw in his own stubbornness.

“My king has been distracted entirely too long,” Kong begun, folding forearms thick with fur across his chest, “What is it that has gotten your head in the clouds?”

Sesshomaru remained silent, watching the letters melt together in front of his eyes.

“Or should I say _whom_.”

Sesshomaru’s eyes snapped up to his tutors, anger budding in his chest, clawed fingers beginning to tap on the wood of the table—a sign of waning patience. Kong met his stare evenly.

“This glare may work on your underlings, my lord, but I’ve watched you grow—taught you since you were old enough to walk.” He leaned away from the table, stretching his hands behind his head so that his stance became more relaxed, “Now tell me what’s ailing you.”

Sesshomaru looked away, letting the silence sit before responding, his tone even despite his confliction, “What use could I have for empathy?”

The bear demon hummed, “King’s must have empathy to lead the masses, my lord. No good ruler comes from selfishness.”

Sesshomaru’s eyes returned to the words on the page, his stare running over the characters absently, “I should… empathize with the hanyou?”

“You have before—when he was hungry. Don’t think I never noticed your sticky fingers in the kitchen, your old robes always smelling of meat pies and lemon cakes.”

Sesshomaru scoffed, “They were _starving_ him,”

“And what are you doing, my lord? It is killing him just the same, only slower.”

“You shame me?” Sesshomaru raged, his finger tapping becoming a steady drum, claws digging groves into the glossed wood, “He who preached of feeling _powers purest form_ through sharing the bed of the unwilling—the hypocrisy is laughable.”

Kong laughed out loud, throwing his head back with it.

“Take a few unwilling?” he questioned, grinning across the table at Sesshomaru, “Yes. But to keep them—to lock them away in your mythical castle in the sky. My king, I am unsure that you can blame that decision solely on my council.”

Sesshomaru closed his eyes against the budding anger, madness trying to burst within his chest. He breathed, slow and steady; calming.

“He was mine to claim.” He stated, finally.

“Hai, my lord. So why does it ail you?”

A flash of his mothers hurt, her eyes glowing with frustration, manicured hands gripping the wood of the balcony.

_There is little difference…_

Sesshomaru didn’t respond.

* * *

 

Sesshomaru went to him in the early afternoon, walking passed the wolf guard a second time and scanning the chambers for but a moment before spotting him. He sat on the cool marble of the balcony, fingers holding the wooden pillars of the railing absently, his grip slack and ghostly. Golden eyes glanced back to Sesshomaru as he entered the space. Sesshomaru studied him, a moment to memorize the translucence of his hair, the white of it seemingly set ablaze behind the brightness of the sun shining behind him.

“You will die if you jump.” Sesshomaru informed, “This height will crush your body before it even hits the surface.”

Inuyasha’s stare was vacant as he met Sesshomaru’s, reading him, trying to calculate the king’s intentions for a visit so early in the day.

“Wasn’t gonna jump,” He began, turning away again, watching the clouds float by, “Until I kill you, I refuse to fuckin’ die.”

Sesshomaru sat, watching the hanyou from inside the rooms. His eyes skated the black silk of his robes given to him by the maids, the smallest size they could find in the male yukata and still drowning him, still brushing his toes where it should stop at his ankle.

Sesshomaru tried to remember being this small. He didn’t feel the gap between their ages significant enough to explain the size difference. He watched the twitch of the inu’s ears, oversized and covered in thick white fur. A halfling geisha. Sesshomaru didn’t have enough experience with the humans to judge if the hanyou’s development was normal from their perspective.

Inuyasha caught his eye and Sesshomaru straightened, caught off guard. He set his teeth, flexing his jaw in frustration, clenching his fists to keep his fingers from his insistent tapping. The hanyou was indeed a distraction.

“You look like your ma’,” he’d muttered, watching Sesshomaru almost as closely as Sesshomaru was watching him.

“What did she say to you?” he’d said, unhinging his jaw, flexing his fingers within his own fists.

Inuyasha broke eye contact first, looking passed Sesshomaru, watching the wood of the door as if he was expecting her return.

“Didn’t say nothin’,” he started, “Just looked at me.”

Sesshomaru tried to picture his mother in his place, walking in on the hanyou as he looked at the outside, eyes watching the ground below as if life’s answers were at the bottom of a leap.

“She wants me to release you.”

Inuyasha’s eyes snapped back to his, golden irises bright with interest before he forced them down again, picking at the blunted claws Sesshomaru’d had cut not three days after his arrival; one too many swipes later.

“You gonna?” he’d asked, voice strongest here; potent.

Sesshomaru could feel his fingers flexing again, tighter.

“You’re too weak to survive on your own.” Sesshomaru’d responded, teeth clenched.

Inuyasha’s laugh was bitter, a harsh scoff from the bottom of his throat, “And is that what the fuck _you’re_ doing?” he spat, “Protecting me—making sure I _survive_?”

“Have I not?” he growled, the anger overcoming him, eyes bleeding red, “If not for me, you would have starved, _you insistent half-breed._ And then again, running away in the dead of winter with no means of shelter or heat—an imbecilic decision that would have had you buried with that sickness if not for my finding you, if not for my doctors—my medicines.”

He laughed outright this time, shaking his head with it, “You’re fucking insane” he accused, that empty laughter stopping at once as he turned, watching the door again. They sat in silence, Inuyasha’s eyes jumping, mind reeling.

“I’ll thank you properly once I get bigger—once I get stronger.” He’d said, his expression manic as he spoke, “I swear to God, Sesshomaru. I swear to any God that’s listening, if any of em’ are up there,” he looked to Sesshomaru then, eyes as serious as he’d ever seen them, “I swear to fucking God, I’m gonna drive a sword through your gut and watch it come out on the other side.”

Sesshomaru held his stare, watching the breath run haggardly though the geisha’s chest, his emotions blazing, his expression as transparent as it always had been, ever since that first night when he came stumbling into his life, the flesh of a watermelon nestled at his chest.

“Hn,” Sesshomaru’d hummed, standing, smirking at the memory, “I look forward to it.”

* * *

 

He’d released the hanyou on the first day of spring—sent him to the ground by guard and dragon. Afterwards, it was like he’d disappeared.

There were years of nothing, with no word and no sightings. Sesshomaru doubted him, his survival, knew he should have kept him locked away, kept him until he was strong enough.

Then one day a letter by crow from a soldier guarding the borders of his lands.

The inu had fallen for a priestess, had been vacating a human village when she’d shot him through the heart, pinned him to a tree— _Inuyasha’s Forest_.

He’d made time one morning, flew out before the sun was high enough to illuminate him, flying through the sky in pursuit. The arrows energy crackled when he stepped near, purifying even now.

He’d let his eyes sweep the inu’s form, let his eyes follow the curve of his neck, his torso, taught with muscle even through the burgundy of his robes. His limbs were near double the length they were when he’d last seen him. He wore a robe of red, the shade concealing the spot of blood blooming from the arrow’s injection—through the heart just as it was written.

Sesshomaru felt the rustle of the wind, shaking the geisha’s hair loose, dancing with it before allowing it to settle again. Sesshomaru turned away from him, mounting his dragons without looking back.

The vision stayed burned throughout his mind despite the fact.

* * *

 

Sesshomaru was training, driving the blade against his captor who fervently attempted an escape, jumping and falling, rolling away. Prolonging  the inevitable. He’d just driven the final blow, a single swoop—a beheading—when his tutor ran towards him, stopping right as the prisoners severed skull rolled to a stop at his feet.

Kong turned away, fetching a rag from his chest and placing it over his nose, over the remainder of his expression, “The exact reason I vouched to become an intellectual,” he muttered, disgusted, stepping over the remains so that he could come within arm’s length.

Sesshomaru watched him pointedly. There was a moment of nothing, of Sesshomaru watching the bear demon, whose smirk grew with each climbing second of silence.

“Speak or have your skull join his.” He stated, tossing the blood from his sword with a flick of the wrist.

Kong laughed, a hearty chortle from deep in his stomach.

“Your inu lives, my lord.”

Sesshomaru paused. The air was still, the world seemingly stopping on its axis. Then, a ghost of a smile, mischief behind those piercing yellow eyes.

“Hn,” he’d said, sheathing his blade, walking in front of the bear demon towards the indoors.

“Maybe not as weak as we’d expected, my lord?” Kong had asked, genuine surprise lacing his tone.

Sesshomaru didn’t break stride as he responded, “Stronger than you’ll ever realize.”


End file.
